Getting Into the Hall of Fame

Bert Blyleven labored as a pitcher in Major League Baseball for 22 seasons. The culmination of his efforts merited his induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame next month.

My journey to Cooperstown seemed as long even though it only spanned 22 hours. Of course the payoff was almost as great as I got an unforgettable Father’s Day weekend with my Dad.

Here’s the timeline of a trip that dispelled the notion “getting there is half the fun”:

6 a.m.: As shoon as I get into the cab to the airport, the driver starts complaining about the extra permits City Council approved to incent the taxi companies to add Priuses to their fleet. He asked, “How am I supposed to make any money when there’s now double the number of cabs looking for fares?” If he was angling for a bigger tip, it worked.

6:20: The security line that snaked throughout the terminal moves quickly which is a good thing as I discover my 7:15 departure is actually 7:00. Everyone seems in a good mood especially the guy in front of me who told TSA with a straight face “Thank you for the thorough pat-down. It makes me feel safer in the skies.”

7:00: We take off to Detroit where I’ll await my Dad’s flight from St. Louis. From there, we’ll fly together to Albany and drive 90 minutes to Cooperstown. If all goes as planned, we’ll have time to check-in and relax at the hotel before our 5:30 p.m. dinner reservation.

11:21: My Dad’s flight is delayed 3 hours. He’ll miss the connection so he sprints to the other terminal to try and catch a flight to Albany on another airline.

11:48: Dad texts he’s first on the standby list so I should get on my flight to Albany and we’ll meet there an hour apart.

12:05 p.m.: Another change of plans (or planes). Dad doesn’t make it off the standy list and no one can get him to Albany tonight. With the help of co-workers, my mom and a buddy at ESPN, we start mapping out alternative cities.

12:12: My Dad gets rebooked on a Syracuse flight leaving through Detroit in three hours. We decide I should switch from Albany and get on his new flight. The problem is my Albany flight is already boarding and the gate agent tells me it’s not guaranteed I can get on the Syracuse flight as it’s “even.” I assume that means if there’s one no show I’ll get a seat so I run out of the terminal and head to the front ticket gate.

12:20: I play the “Father’s Day card” to the ticket agent begging her to switch my flight so I can travel with my panicked Dad (mostly true as his last text said “Stress level in overdrive”). She changes my flight giving me a 90% chance of getting on.

1:05: My Dad’s St. Louis to Detroit flight has another mechanical delay. It’s expected to leave 45 minutes late which will give him an hour to make our new Syracuse flight together.

1:55: The St. Louis airport is shutdown because of thunderstorms. My Dad’s now doubtful to make the connection.

3:35: I get a seat assignment and the plane leaves Detroit as my Dad is landing. He is rebooked on a 7:15 p.m. Detroit to Syracuse flight.

5:10: I get our rental car and head to eat dinner to wait for my Dad’s 8:30 p.m. arrival.

6:05: Both the people-watching and shrimp and crab bisque at The Clam Bar by the Syracuse airport is excellent. It’s mostly 70+ year olds highlighted by a Frank Costanza from Seinfield clone sitting beside me. Unsolicited he tells me “Kids are a pain in the ass when they are young and even when they are old.” Apparently his daughter just texted and wants him to see his grandson play softball again tonight. His response to me: “I’ve already been to two games and that’s plenty.”

6:45: My Dad’s flight is delayed while they fix a broken cabin light. While at the bar, “Frank’ ” now complains to me about the “muggy 75 degree weather” and how Syracuse University owns more than half the town so they don’t contribute enough in taxes for improvements.

7:45: My Dad calls to say his flight is cancelled and they rebooked him on a 5:40 P.M. FLIGHT TOMORROW. I think he’s joking but he’s not. We’re both deflated and pissed. There’s a 52 minute hold time for the airlines 1-800 number and the help line in Detroit for my Dad to investigate other options is 100 people deep.

7:53: I head back to the Syracuse airport to plead my case.

8:02: Following my 30 second rant on my Dad’s troubles, I tell the ticket agent, “I don’t care where, but he needs to get on a flight tonight. I’ll go pick him up at any New York airport.” To no avail we look for open seats on flights to Albany, Syracuse, Rochester, Binghamton or Buffalo. The agent’s last check is to the regional airport in Ithaca. Bingo! She finds a seat on a 10:30 p.m. flight that arrives in Ithaca at midnight. Before asking out how far the airport is from Syracuse or Cooperstown, I tell her to book it.

8:23: My phone is dead so I drive to the nearest grocery store looking for an outlet to charge my battery. The only spot is in the back corner in their closed pharmacy section. I call my Dad and we decide I’ll wait in Syracuse until it looks like his flight is going to take off.

10:07: His flight is delayed until 11:30 p.m., so it will now land at 1:05 a.m. For those keeping track at home, that’s four flight delays and two cancelled flights in one day. I know there is no crying in baseball but if this flight is cancelled my Dad and I will both break down.

10:25: I map the 90 minute route from Syracuse to Ithaca and decide to drive halfway until I hear his plane is in the air.

11:22: Thirty minutes from Ithaca, I pull into a Hampton Inn and sit in the lobby. I drink the first cup of coffee of my life.

11:41: My Dad texts “We are boarding!!” I generally dislike the use of two exclamation points but I’m as excited as Dad so I let it pass.

12:10 a.m.: I head to the Ithaca Airport after not getting another “flight cancelled” call.

12:42: The airport is deserted. I panic thinking I’m in the wrong place or my Dad’s flight got divereted somewhere else.

12:47: A daughter also coming to pick up her Dad walks in and we find a small monitor that shows the plane is en route. To pass the time, I post on Facebook that our nightmare day is almost over but joke the “over/under on me hitting deer tonight during our 2+ hour drive to Cooperstown is two.”

1:12: Dad walks off the plane with a big grin. I’m not sure if he’s happier to see me or be done with airports for awhile.

1:18: I tell my Dad he can sleep in the back while I drive. Luckily, he declines and helps me navigate the winding back roads.

2:38: We’re more than halfway to Cooperstown but I’m exhausted. It’s hard driving as you have to constantly slow down for each small town and then speed back up through patches of mist and fog.

3:15: We see our first sign for Cooperstown–13 miles to go. Seconds later a large deer darts across the road to the right and I swerve left. He smashes into the right headlight and then runs off into the woods. The car is drivable so we don’t stop.

3:37: We pull into the hotel. The right headlight is smashed but there’s no body damage. (Tip: Don’t decline the rental car insurance like I did if you are driving through Central New York in the middle of the night.)

4:00: We crash in our room a full 22 hours after I left my house in San Antonio.

The sun woke us up after three hours of sleep so we dress for breakfast. Outside of my Dad asking for a “little milk” when he really wanted coffee with a little milk, we are pretty coherent and tell the waiter about our trek. It would have saved us 6+ hours and a run-in with a deer if Dad wouldn’t have missed one flight by one passenger and another connection by 10 minutes.

The waiter said he’s hit three deer and that you should never swerve as it’s better to hit a deer than a tree or an oncoming car. That made sense. But with as much drama as Jack Bauer the last 24 hours (and no support from Chloe), I’m just happy we’re safe and will be first in line when the Hall of Fame opens at 9 a.m.